


A Rose by Any Other Name

by Llama1412



Series: Families of Choice [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, Gen, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied Relationships, Jaskier | Dandelion-centric, Jaskier's music, Making Dandelion live in TV canon, POV Outsider, Valdo Marx Sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23102482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Jaskier has gone by several names in his time. Some had worked better than others. Or, the story of names through flowers, spite, and the power of music.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Families of Choice [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660492
Comments: 7
Kudos: 324





	1. Julian, Jaskier, Dandelion

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my friend Miranda who let me talk through this idea, and also suggested Milkweed.

He was born Julian Alfred Pankratz. It was a fine name, he supposed. He had nothing against it. It was just…boring. He’d tried on many others over the years, though the only one to humor him and use them was a young maidservant who was occasionally drafted to play with him.

See, he’d learned from a young age that attention must be demanded. His family was too busy to spend time with him otherwise. But that was fine – he excelled at demanding attention.

The problem was, Julian was not an attention-grabbing name. It was average, ordinary – nice enough, but not the name he needed for who he wanted to be.

He was a performer at heart. Song, music, story – it all enthralled him. It was the perfect way to gain attention, and there were so many potential stories out there! But a performer needed a name that resonated, one that stuck with you over time. His time at Oxenfurt proved to him that Julian was not that name. He tried on many others – he’s been on a flower kick since his journey to Oxenfurt had passed through some truly delightful wildflower meadows. 

In retrospect, Milkweed was not his best choice. The crowds in Posada were harsh with their feedback and he began to think it was time for a new flower. Only, when he approached the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, in the darkest corner in the pub, he hadn’t actually decided on a name.

He was mostly certain that Geralt hadn’t heard his introduction (the performance started with “Hello, I’m Milkweed” and went downhill from there), so he kept waiting for Geralt to ask. He hadn’t actually come up with an answer yet – ooooh, maybe an Elven flower? He doesn’t see any flowers in the fields, but there’s got to be something.

Only, Geralt doesn’t ask. Actually, Geralt doesn’t say much at all. Which is fine! He talks plenty enough for 5 people, and Geralt probably tunes out 90% of what he says, but that’s okay – at least he pretends to listen, and there’s no one else around to steal his attention.

Since the only way Geralt has addressed him is as “bard,” he kept trying out new names. True, when he started his spiel to the audience, Geralt was often occupied making Roach comfortable, but he kept waiting for Geralt to ask about the names, or at least what to call him!

He never did. And that was when he realized that Geralt tuned out about 80% of the stimuli around him.

But anyway, his name! He was testing out “Buttercup” right now, but it wasn’t settling quite right. And that was starting to worry him, because _Toss a Coin_ was really taking off! Which was incredible and wonderful, but also, if he wanted to enjoy that fame, he needed to attach a damn name to it!

He traveled with Geralt for several seasons, until he received a one-of-a-kind invite to perform at Cintra’s Midwinter Festival. This was it – the moment he really, really needed to decide on a name. And he liked Buttercup, he did. There was no reason to be nervous about it, right?

He was set on Buttercup, right up until a young princess looked up at him with big green eyes and suggested “Jaskier.” By the time the night ended, Jaskier had successfully debuted as a skilled troubadour in court and found himself a lifelong fan in Princess Pavetta. He spent the rest of the season entertaining in Cintra, and by the time he was ready to set out on the road again, he was firmly settled into the name Jaskier.

He’s not actually sure when Geralt realized what his name was. They traveled together on and off several times before Geralt actually _used_ his name. He’d love to believe maybe Geralt had been paying attention and had picked up on it, but in all honestly, Jaskier had referred to himself in the 3rd person earlier in the conversation, so…. He probably shouldn’t get his hopes up.

Nonetheless, by this point, he knew that Jaskier was his name, _the_ name. If his soul had a name, it was definitely Jaskier. And it was perfect! He’d already rubbed the right elbows in court, if he wanted to pursue a position – which, he sometimes did! But it turned out he was often more interested in the positions he and his sponsor could achieve together than in upholding this bardic reputation. And his songs about Geralt were getting quite popular – 3 out of 5 inns they stopped at joined in for the chorus of _Toss a Coin_. Not that that necessarily meant they didn’t try to cheat Geralt. Singing a catchy tune wasn’t the same as reexamining prejudices against Witchers, but he liked to think it helped some. If nothing else, it tipped the scale from stoning to tolerating when a town was on the edge. Usually.

They traveled together until winter began setting in, then parted ways to hole up for the season’s snows. Jaskier had an open invitation to perform in Cintra, a standing opportunity to lecture at Oxenfurt Academy, and usually a handful of paramours that he split his winters between. When he was at Oxenfurt, he took the opportunity to further his studies. Sometimes, Geralt found him there in the spring, when he tolerated the city long enough to find contracts. Other times, they simply found each other on the road entirely by chance. That happened often enough, he could almost blame Destiny, but in truth, Destiny was helped by one or the other of them following recent news about the other. Usually, it was Jaskier following Geralt’s trail, but on occasion, Geralt sought him out first. Not that he ever admitted as much, of course.

This time, Geralt hadn’t made it to Oxenfurt until late spring. Usually by then, Jaskier would have long since taken to the road, with or without his Witcher escort. But this spring was the last bit of coursework he needed to complete before he was named Master of the Seven Liberal Arts! So Jaskier had stayed longer than he typically did, and he was more than ready to accept his title. By this point in his life, Jaskier rather thought he was done choosing names. 

Then Valdo Marx had to open his damn mouth. And this asshole, he wasn’t even a master yet! But he was ever so comfortable in his position as the troubadour of Cindaris and he loved reminding people of that. Marx had started going on and on about the poise and nobility of court, and how a true artiste would have a name to match. Apparently, he just didn’t “get” Jaskier – Buttercups were rarely considered poised or noble. 

So Jaskier smiled brightly, looked Marx dead in the eye, and named himself after a weed. He continued the staredown as the university’s Chancellor cleared his throat and announced, “Presenting Dandelion, Master of the Seven Liberal Arts.” and thoroughly enjoyed the look on Marx’s face.

Afterwards, friends kept approaching him, whispering soft “are you sure?”s in his ear. But really, Dandelion is a perfectly respectable name, and he rather likes it. Master Dandelion, the Witcher’s Bard. It would confuse Geralt, who had taken a decade to learn his name in the first place, but he kind of liked getting to break in a new name again.

He was still celebrating three days later when Geralt found him. He’d missed the witcher, quite honestly, and he was delighted to order another skin of wine to share. Geralt wasn’t a fan of loud noises or crowds, but he sat there next to Jaskier, nodding along as he eagerly retold his victory over Marx.

And honestly, Jaskier (soon to be better known as Dandelion) loved Oxenfurt, but after two seasons cooped up in the university, he was more than ready to hit the road again.

Then Geralt mentioned he’d heard of work up north, and suddenly they found themselves on a dragon hunt. From the moment Yennefer walked in, he knew this whole quest was going to be a shitshow. But Geralt said he was in, and Jaskier would follow him, as he always did.

He’s not sure why he introduced himself to the dwarfs as Julian. Maybe he just wanted to see if Geralt would notice, if he had any of the witcher’s attention now. He didn’t. Oh, Geralt responded when Jaskier spoke, but part of his focus was always on Yennefer. And Jaskier was beginning to realize that he might be good at demanding attention, but sometimes, it would be nice if it was just….given. Without him having to kick up a fuss.

Well, Geralt had made it clear that he wouldn’t be giving him anything.

And that was....well, the witcher certainly knew where to hit to cause the most damage. 

So he collected the dwarves’ accounts, let himself drown in ale for three whole nights, and then he forced himself to move on. He traveled back to Oxenfurt, where his legacy may stand on the foundation of his tales of the White Wolf, but it held so much more as well.

  
He still sang songs about the Witcher, but more and more these days, Dandelion was becoming know for pushing the edge and redefining the art. And yes, that was all as absurdly pretentious as it sounded, but he was having _fun_ experimenting with his students at Oxenfurt. They were a bright and eager bunch, as excited to learn from him as they were to go make a name for themselves.

He would always think of himself as Jaskier. But Dandelion was getting quite famous now, and it was kind of nice gaining attention without everyone asking what the White Wolf was up to. 


	2. The Cryptid of Oxenfurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Dandelion taught his craft at Oxenfurt Academy most winters, and had been doing so for many, many years. And yet, he looked the same as when he achieved his mastery.

Oxenfurt Academy has long boasted many famous alumni, the best of whom returned to teach current students. That was part of its boast – come to Oxenfurt, get trained by the best. And ever since Master Dandelion had decided to make his home in Oxenfurt each winter, registration spiked sharply when his courses were announced.

Chancellor Lindenbrog had presided over Oxenfurt Academy for 23 years, and he’d never seen any one teacher cause as much controversy as their parttime winter lecturer.

But it was odd. When Lindenbrog had first come to Oxenfurt Academy as a young assistant professor, Julian Pankratz (who later adopted the name Dandelion upon his Mastery) had been a student. He hadn’t taught the boy directly, but he’d certainly seen the man on campus over the years. The bard had been invited back to the school many, many times, as both a student and a lecturer, and Lindenbrog would swear that he had not aged at all. Oh, he didn’t buy into those conspiracy theories about magic or inhuman ancestry – he was sure it was simply good breeding and the man’s fastidious dedication to skin care. Nonetheless, it was odd to look down into the lecture hall and realize that the performer on stage was supposed to be in his fifties. He certainly did not look it.

Perhaps he could understand why the students whispered about the Immortal Bard, the Cryptid of Oxenfurt. Though there was clearly a school girl exaggeration in the description of his enchanting charm –  _ one note and you fall under his sway _ , it was ridiculous. The bard’s voice was pleasant certainly, he could even see the appeal in romanticizing it. But it was nonsense. Julian Alfred Pankratz was as normal a human as could be. Some people were just fortunate enough to age more gracefully than others. With a frown, Lindenbrog smoothed down his grey moustache and turned to leave. Unlike some, he did not have the energy to stand for a 90 minute lecture anymore.

Still, you’d never believe the bard was only a few years younger than himself.


End file.
